


The Only Exception

by ashley_ingenious



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Hurt!Derek, Hurt!Stiles, M/M, Songfic, mentioned knotting, might change the rating if you guys think?, minor depictions of sexual intercourse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashley_ingenious/pseuds/ashley_ingenious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Songfic! Obviously. </p>
<p>Stiles and Derek both have their reasons for not wanting to get involved, but in the end, it doesn't really matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Exception

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this is probably super trite. I feel like everybody writes songfic to this song. Everybody. But...I did it anyway, and here it is.

_When I was younger I saw my daddy cry, and curse at the wind._

Stiles could hardly remember it without a panic attack following quickly after. It was crazy, but every now and then, he forced himself to, just so that he never lost sight of how it felt. How it felt when love fell apart, or just fell away, because those were the only two ways it ever went. Of this he was sure. He remembered his father stumbling into their front door, blind with tears. Remembered him finding his son making a sandwich at the kitchen counter and pulling him to his chest, grasping him tightly, sobbing like there wasn’t going to be any air left. Like this was it. Like the end of the world. Stiles realizes now that it was.

_He broke his own heart and I watched as he tried to reassemble it_

He still has nightmares of those first nights after, when his father’s screams would ring through the house, his mother’s name an echo on the wind. They ripped at Stiles’ heart until he just wanted to lock it in a box, and never use it again. Never use it again, if it could feel like this. Nothing should ever feel like this.

The drinking was almost a blessing, it cut the nightmares.

The overwork was almost a blessing, it cut the drinking.

But then the sheriff’s health had started to fail, and the only thing that was a blessing to Stiles anymore was his father, battered and broken as he was. It became his sole mission in life to keep him healthy, and happy, and whole. And if that meant vegetarian lasagna and hiding the bacon then so fucking be it. He was never going to lose anyone close to him ever again. He was never going to know pain like that ever again. 

_And my momma swore that she would never let herself forget_

His mother had kept journals. They’d ended up in a box in the attic. John had moved to throw them out a million times in the six years since her passing, but he never made it all the way up the attic stairs without choking, crying, and going back down. Stiles went up once, thinking he’d throw the box away himself. He couldn’t stand to see his father torn up like this again. He ended up on the floor, reading about her. Journals as far back as her senior year of high school. He read about how she met John, how at first he was brooding and confrontational, but he opened up for her, smiled for her. Stiles refused to acknowledge any parallels that may have been drawn between his life and his mothers.

Instead, he got to know her. He learned of all the ways he’d tormented her when she’d carried him. Of how _funny_ she was, sometimes random and all the time kind, thinking of others first. He cheered her accomplishments and cried with her failures. He broke all over again when she realized how sick she was, how there was nothing anyone could do about it. The last line of the last page of the last journal just read: _Don’t let him forget._

Stiles was overcome with anger and hurt, because John hadn’t spoken of her since she died. He moved the journals downstairs, hid them in the back of the closet. He’d never forget.

_And that was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love if it does not exist_

And so he tried to harden his heart to the fact that he was the only person Derek Hale smiled at. That Derek listened to him, actually listened, no matter how long he’d been talking, or what he’d been talking about. That he still said, “Shut up, Stiles,” but there was no heat to it anymore, only fondness. 

He couldn’t allow himself to pay attention to the boil in his blood when they were alone together, or when Derek crowded him, pressed up close and asked him if he was okay, if there was anything Derek could do. No. **No**. There wasn’t and there couldn’t be, because he’d seen firsthand what love turned into when it was over. Agonizing grief was not on his agenda. 

But damn werewolves don’t often take “no” for an answer. And so Derek was there. Derek was there when he was jittery, and when his mind was moving too fast, and when his pills didn’t let him sleep well at night, and when his panic was so high that his breath wouldn’t come. 

Derek found his mother’s journals in the back of his closet, and read them aloud. Everything in Stiles wanted to rebel. 

No. 

How dare he?

It wasn’t right.

But if anyone knew anything about lost family, it was Derek Hale. He held the books with such reverence, like they were something holy, something to be cherished. He got to know his mother all over again, through Derek’s voice. He read her words differently. They weren’t as pained when he read them, not colored with Stiles’ own memories of her passing, with Stiles’ own hurt. 

The locks on the box Stiles had tucked his heart in fell away the night Derek read the last line of the last page of the last journal:

_Don’t let him forget_   


The tears fell hot on heavy on his face, and Derek embraced him, quiet and steady as always, until Stiles was laughing into his shoulder. His mother had known love, had felt it at all of its highs and all of its lows. Maybe that’s what she wanted him to remember.

He’d never forget.

But Darlin’ you are the only exception  
You are the only exception  
You are the only exception  
You are the only exception

_Maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul that love never lasts_

Love had never done Derek any good. It hadn’t put out the flames of his house. Hadn’t saved his parents, hadn’t saved his sisters. Love hadn’t kept Peter from going mad. Hadn’t kept Laura from being sliced in half. It didn’t matter how much of it he had, and he’d had _so_ much, it had never come through for him when he needed it. And once everyone he’d ever loved was dead, or gone, or had so deeply betrayed his trust that there was nothing left for it, Derek didn’t have any love left in him, and no one left to love, even if he did. 

_And we’ve got to find other ways to make it alone or keep a straight face_

And so he turned to anger. Because anger grounded him, stabilized him, reminded him of what was real, of how the world actually _worked_. Love would have you floating in the clouds, would have you imagining things that couldn’t, wouldn’t ever exist. Love was for the weak, love made you weak. 

So no, he couldn’t love the way Stiles laughed. He couldn’t love the constant, somehow soothing chatter that was always streaming from him. He couldn’t love his fierceness, his determination, his fearlessness, his unbreaking loyalty. He couldn’t love Stiles Stilinski. He didn’t have any love left in him. 

Except apparently he did.

_And up until now I have sworn to myself that I’m content with loneliness_

But Stiles didn’t have it for him. No, wouldn’t have it. His breathing and heartbeat steadied in Derek’s presence. Pleasure rolled off him in waves when Derek laughed at his jokes, or touched his hand, or was around in general. But his face stayed flat, emotionless. His voice was monotone. No matter how close Derek got, Stiles wouldn’t allow himself to be _touched_ and it was killing him. He was so angry, **so angry** because again, love was betraying him.  Again. And, to make matters worse, he couldn’t walk away. He couldn’t stop. Because he was so sure that it was there, just under the surface, and all he had to do was scratch just right, at the right spot, and Stiles would be his. His laughing, loving, unbreakable Stiles. What could be better than that?

_Because none of it was ever worth the risk_

Derek could almost hear Stiles’ voice over his mother’s words. They were so much alike that his heart broke from it. He’d expected to be yelled at, screamed at, cursed at, hit, the first night he’d found the journals and started to read. Yet Stiles had just sat there, stony, and listening. He was as careful as he could possibly be with them. Careful as he could possibly be with _her_ , because he knew that Stiles’ closest connection to his mother was in his hands. He treated the books, and the content within, the same way he wanted his mother’s memory treated. 

Page by page, the walls around Stiles came down. And on that last night, when Stiles was laughing into his shoulder, Derek realized that love was just as real, just as concrete and stable as anger. This was not an imaginary thing. It was a real, perfect thing. This was the way the world was _supposed_ to work.

Well you are the only exception  
You are the only exception  
You are the only exception  
You are the only exception

_I’ve got a tight grip on reality but I can’t let go of what’s in front of me here_

They clung to each other too tightly, one another’s only port in the storm. It’d been too long, they’d waited too long and now they didn’t have enough time. Derek pressed Stiles into the mattress, mouthing at his jaw, his neck, licking his way into his mouth. Marking, claiming, _**owning**_. Stiles responded in kind, pouring every ounce of everything he’d been holding back into their kisses. Nails jagged from biting clawed into Derek’s bare back, hips canted up to slot against his, trying to get _closer_ , they could never get close enough. 

_I know you’re leaving in the morning when you wake up_

Stiles was leaving in the morning. Their perfect summer romance was coming to an end, and neither one of them knew what would come of their hard fought love when the Jeep rattled off at sunrise. Neither one wanted to ask for anything. Both of them wanted everything. Both of them terrified of promises. Terrified of this needy love that was crawling up their throats and out of their mouths, terrified of these whispers permeating the dark. 

_I love you._

_I’ll wait for you._

_Don’t leave. Shit, Stiles, don’t leave._

All they knew they could give each other was this. Clothes flung haphazardly across the room as they drowned in each other. 

Tongues tripped over nipples, hands fisted cocks. Stiles arched and moaned, Derek growled and nipped at open expanses of creamy skin.  


_Leave me with some kind of proof it’s not a dream_

And when they were connected in the most intimate of ways, with his knot pressed up against Stiles’ prostate, he leaned in and bit the juncture between his neck and shoulder, breaking the skin, then mouthing at it fondly, he knew it’d be a beautiful bruise. “Mate” he breathed into Stiles’ ear. The younger man shuddered and came apart beneath him again.

You are the only exception

Well after the knot had subsided and slipped out, Stiles clung. “Not yet,” he’d mutter, “not yet.”

You are the only exception

“It’s not that far. I’ll be back for all the holidays, some weekends. You could come down maybe?” Derek just nodded, nose nuzzled in Stiles’ neck, soaking up every whiff of scent he could get.

You are the only exception

“I’ve never done this before. I’ve never loved somebody and just let them go,” Derek lamented quietly. “Then don’t let go,” Stiles replied, voice thick with sleep.

You are the only exception

They stayed that way, plastered to one another, until Derek heard the Sheriff’s heart beat change from the steadiness of sleep to the adrenaline fueled kick start of waking up to something important. He slipped out the window.

You are the only exception

Stiles didn’t even try to hide the bruise on his neck, when he greeted his father tiredly over the breakfast table. John didn’t ask.

You are the only exception

Scott, Allison, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, Lydia, even Jackson were in his driveway, they hugged tearily, and promised to stay in touch. Derek was noticeably absent.

You are the only exception

A wolf followed the jeep all the way to the county line, and howled forlornly when he couldn’t follow anymore.

You are the only exception

Stiles flicked off the sign that read “You Are Now Leaving Beacon Hills!” But he murmured, “I love you so much,” into the wind, and the wolf’s howling stopped.

_And I’m on my way to believing_

Somehow, everyone bought the fact that Stiles was back damn near every other weekend to do his laundry. 

And he never smiled bigger than when a classmate complained about that crazy wild wolf howling around campus. “Everyone knows there’s no wolves in California,” he’d reply.

_Oh, and I’m on my way to believing._

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Do you tumble? I tumble. You should come tumble with me [here](http://worththeapplepie.tumblr.com)


End file.
